running

There's not enough said about winter runing. Running in the winter is like not giving up when the road gets hard. It's about willpower and perseverance and being faithful to your sport.

Running, the music flew into him, became the wind that pushed back his hair and the slap of his own feet on the pavement.

People conceptualize conditioning in different ways," he said. "Some think it's a ladder straight up. Others see plateaus, blockages, ceilings. I see it as a geometric spiraling upward, with each spin of the circle taking you a different distance upward. Some spins may even take you downward, just gathering momentum for the next upswing. Sometimes you will work your fanny off and see very little gain; other times you will amaze yourself and not really know why.

Don't fight the trail, take what it gives you. If you have a choice between one step or two between rocks, take three.

Step my step, mile by mile. These were my medals and I had worked hard for each and every one of them and no matter what happened, no matter who horrible I felt on race day, those medals represent the blood, sweat, and tears that went into making me the runner I am today.

I love the laughter of this night. Our footsteps run, and I don't want them to end. I want to run and laugh and feel like this forever. I want to avoid any awkward moment when the realness of reality sticks its fork into our flesh, leaving us standing there, together. I want to stay here, in this moment, and never go to other places, where we don't know what to say or what to do. For now, just let us run. We run straight through the laughter of the night.

The sunrise was the most amazing part of the day. The quiet of the block seemed even more silent when I watched the light make its way effortlessly into the world. Its serenity bathed itself in the rose colored light above bleeding into the sky. The road was vulnerable. The pink and the orange seeped onto the street and lit up my path, just for me. I saw it in front of my feet and it pulled me forward, my footsteps hitting the gravel. I wanted to run into it, to dive feet first and plunge into the harmony of my safe haven. It serenaded me into a calm sense of security. A calm idea that everything was just the way it was supposed to, and everything else, would always get better. Siempre mejorando.

Swallowing, he entered the second code. Then there was a sound like a marble dropping on the floor - bouncing slowly, gradually getting faster as it dropped lower and lower_ The thing was toying with him! Where was it? He strained his hearing, but all was again silent. He wanted to shout and scream obscenities at it, but he fought the impulse. It might not really know his location after all - and that would've led it right to him. It must be coming for him! It must be by the door by now, looking for a way in. Time was running out. He hastily keyed in the third and last code.Death the destroyer never is late!

Heat radiated off Henry's face. Salty snot ran down his upper lip. A majestic fart propelled him to the top of Section 12, just at the springing of the stadium's curve. He slapped the sign as if high-fiving a teamate. It gave back a game shudder. He was crusing now, darkness be damned, stripping off his sweatshirt and his long underwear top without breaking stride.

If you drive fast enough on a rough road you glide over the bumps and skim the pot holes - it's a smooth ride. If you charge without fear over boulders and beach debris it's the same as running on hard flat sand. The only problem is slowing down, or stopping.

Right before you head out running, it can be hard to remember exactly why you're doing it. You often have to override a nagging sense of futility, lacing up your shoes, telling yourslef that no matter how unlikely it seems right now, after you finish you will be glad you went. It's only afterward that it makes sense, although even then it's hard to rationalize why. You just feel right. After a run, you feel at one with the world, as though some unspecified, innate need has been fulfilled.

Here I am I am tired I am tired of running of having to carry my life like it was a basket of eggs

Finish: Even if you run a slower than expected time, you succeed in any marathon when you finish.

Running is a brutal and emotional sport. It's also a simple, primal sport. As humans, on a most basic level, we get hungry, we sleep, we yearn for love, we run.

I just run faster and hit the slowest of the lead boys. I wink and race by him. He smells like onions and he has big, wet circles in the pits of his shirt. He speeds up, but can only stay with me for a tenth of a mile before he drops back. Then it__ Nick.I cruise next to him. He__ some sort of running god, because he isn__ close to being winded. His stride is long, powerful, and quick.__i.__hy I said this, I do not know. He__ cute. Okay. I am a sucker for cute boys and he was nice to Issie. Plus, he has good hair and he isn__ as pale as most Maine males. He looks like he works in the sun, or at least has seen the sun once, maybe many weeks ago. Plus, life is all supposed to be about making love, not war. My dad listened to John Lennon; I know this stuff.__ou__e fast,_ he says, easy. No huffing. No puffing. No blowing the house down.__o are you.__e run together, keeping pace. The only one ahead of us is Ian, who is loping around the track as if it__ nothing.Nick shrugs at me while he runs, which is really something, because when I__ running full tilt it__ hard for me to speak, let alone break form to shrug.__ou can go faster, can__ you?_ I huff out.He just gives a little smile again and then his eyes shift into something cold, like gravestones with just the barest information about a life etched onto them.__ara,_ he whisper-says.I lean in closer to hear him. __hat?__y voice is not a whisper. It matches the thudding beat of my heart, the bass of the music that blares out of the speakers.__wesome job, new girl!_ Devyn yells, clapping.

If you can run six miles on a summer day then you, my friend, are a lethal weapon in the animal kingdom. We can dump heat on the run, but animals can't pant while they gallop.

We knew not where we were going. We only knew that we must run, run to the end of the world, run to the end of our days.

At age 43, when I decided to run again, I realized that the images used to describe runners didn't fit me. I wasn't a rabbit. I wasn't a gazelle or a cheetah or any of the other animals that run fast and free. But I wasn't a turtle or a snail either. I wasn't content anymore to move slowly through my life and hide in my shell when I was scared.I was a round little man with a heavy heart but a hopeful spirit. I didn't really run, or even jog. I waddled. I was a Penguin. This was the image that fit. Emperor-proud, I stand tallto face the elements of my life. Yes, I am round. Yes, I am slow. Yes, I run as thought my legs are tied together at the knees. But I am running. And that is all that matters.